


Dogs Find One Another by Howling in the Dark

by wolfgun



Category: DOGS (Manga)
Genre: Graphic Violence because I may update this with the mission described in the work, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5629558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfgun/pseuds/wolfgun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He breathed in the night for a while, watching the artificial lights above slowly begin to glow. When his thoughts began to flow again, he put out his cig and reentered the apartment, reaching his hands high into the air in a stretch. His partner was fast asleep, the back of Heine's head uncovered on the mattress. The collar drew Badou's curious wandering eye, where a thick scar marred his partner's skin all around the unforgiving metal, extending up into his ghostly hairline and down under the borrowed shirt. A lump formed in the pit of the red-head's stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Onus

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fucking obsessed.

Fucking hell. Where was his sorry excuse for a partner? It was always like this; Badou went out of his way to look for the guy and he always got the short end of … everything, really.

The stick, the hammer, the fist. The end. That old Grandma had given them a new assignment—to search a compound for the whereabouts of some kids, and this asshole just up and disappears. Not that you can really easily tie down a stray dog, but damn... he could try.

His boots echoed off the cold pavement, and he lit another cigarette, mindlessly glancing at the faces that passed him. They all look strained, hardy, or tough. Faces that disguise, attached to beings that have probably never committed an honest act in their entire lives. A billow of smoke exited his lungs as he sighed, and he felt the nicotine course throughout his veins. The red-head hummed in contentment.

He turned block after block, watching the lights of the underground slowly dim to mimic night. That transition never helped this place--just made this place seem even more artificial. As he fumbled with his apartment key, he growled under his breath. "What a fucking shitty hellhole to live in."

The door fell open on its hinges, and he flicked on the lights—and his cigarette promptly drops from his jaw.

“What the fuck are you doing here Heine! I looked fucking everywhere for you, and your ass happens to be parked in my couch? What the hell happened to your place or the church? What—“

Heine threw a pillow, muffling the noise. “Shut up.” For a soft pillow, it was sure a hard throw. Maybe he put a rock in it ...?

“Look at that, you made me waste some good tobacco,” Badou muttered, stomping out his cigarette and lighting another almost immediately. Heine just glared.

“For your information, Badou, my apartment was incinerated.”

“Then go sleep in the pews or something.”

“I don’t feel like getting a nightly visit from our Lord and Savior.”

“Too bad, get out. A nightly cleansing might do you good."

The pillow was thrown back, but unfortunately for Badou, it was caught by his unwelcome guest. Heine laid the pillow back on the couch, and returned to reclining. Badou, suddenly feeling the fighting spirit inside him die, groaned loudly and instead went to make some food. Not that there was much grub to choose from, with measly scattered jobs here and there, and pay just as inconsistent. But a guy's gotta eat.

“I hope you’ve had dinner, Heine, because I’m not making you any food." He didn’t get a response, so he shrugged and opened the fridge.

Badou didn’t really know what to do. He’s never had people over in his apartment—let’s face it; he’s a messy person, doesn’t really like people snooping around, and doesn’t really have anyone to invite over either. If you want to talk, you go out for coffee or something. Not much to see in a place where you sleep, no reason to put anything interesting in such a place either.

But Heine… That guy was on a different level entirely. Sure, they went out to eat and all after a job, but Badou had never seen the guy’s house, and didn’t feel like spending spare time with him. Heine was something akin to a butcher's hand rag. Dirty, always covered in blood, and above all, nothing anyone wanted to deal with. Especially if it’s not their own blood on the filthy piece of shit cloth.

Speaking of blood, the guy was soaked in it. Again. “Heine, get your bloody ass off my sofa.” When he got no response, he cursed his shitty partner, and stomped over to his bedroom. He returned with a spare change of clothes that he didn’t _particularly_ care about—(he bought all his clothes and they were fashionable, damnit)—and dropped them on Heine. “Shower’s down on the left.”

He found his ass a nice seat on the coffee table (as Heine currently occupied the couch), right in front of his TV and switched it to the news.

The best part of being an information broker is watching the coverage of events that he learned about during the day—and seeing the programs sugarcoat or butcher them to hell and back. There's something sadistically hilarious about watching the anchor try and breeze over the underground. Too many murders, mafias, and too much malevolence. The anchors always brighten up when the topic moves to the surface. Though, that being due to the nature of the underground's news... well, all around, people liked the surface better.

The news at the current was covering an 'abnormal' series of killings thought to be escalated robberies, but Badou scoffed to himself. He knew they were staged. Some unlucky guy got into a bad position with one of the other lesser Mafia families, and paid for it. The shower was turned on and off at some point, but this time he looked back to examine the damp, apparently homeless Heine as he walked into the room.

They stared in silence at each other for a while, until the white-haired grump let out a short, gnarled, “Thanks.”

The clothes Badou had lent him were nothing special; just a solid black tank top and gray jeans. But now that Badou thought about it, the guy had never really worn tank tops. Like, at all. Before he could help himself, the red-head’s eyes focused on the still-wet, glinting piece of metal around the other’s neck.

More silence. Heine sat back down on the couch. Then,

“How long are you going to stare?”

“Sorry,” he muttered, turning around to the television. After a period of time, however, he found himself unable to follow the headlines that rolled across the screen, not hearing the anchor's voice past a jumbled monotone. He tried several times to knock his brain back into focus, but each time he couldn't erase the image of that glittering piece of metal from his head. Frustrated, he switched it off.

He lit another cig, absentmindedly massaging his bad eye. “So what happened to you?” He turned around to Heine, breathing out smoke.

“I told you, my place got incinerated.”

“Yeah, but what I’m asking is _how_.”

“I just…” He ran a hand through his white hair. “I guess a few guys from an incident a while back found out where I lived. Tried to burn it while I was in it.”

“Well… That sure sucks.”

“The whole apartment complex was up in flames.” 

“Did the owners penalize you?”

“Nah… they didn’t. You can’t really find fault with a hotel that houses people from the underground, can you? Something like that is bound to happen. Plus, they can’t find the source of a fire that already burnt the whole damn thing down.”

Badou grunted in agreement, letting out another long exhale of smoke. He knew Heine was glaring at him for doing that, but the guy was free to leave, any time. His place, his smokes.

“Ah, right. So old lady Liza gave us another job,” he said, pulling out his cigarette and knocking it in an ashtray. “She wants us to investigate another kidnapping, this time though it’s something almost like recon. Search the whole building, find files or even better, children themselves, and get out with them unscathed.” His partner gave a low growl,  cursing towards the floor.

“You know how bad I am with this type of shit,” he grumbled. “That old woman should know as hell.”

“She said us two were the best for the job. They want us to clear out the place completely, which means personnel too.”

“Well... At least that's slightly better.”

“Yeah; but we still gotta get any info we can from that place, and people got valuable info.”

“Is there even a guarantee we’ll find anything?”

“Well…” He took another hit, then leaned back, watching the smoke escape from his lips to the ceiling. “Not really.”

The two of them were quiet again, Badou staring at the dispersing smoke and Heine glaring at the floor.

The red-head watched as his partner in crime returned to his earlier position, laying down with an arm across his eyes. With Heine having no clear view of Badou, the latter inhaled his cig and looked over the former in depth. First his ‘collar,’ which was embedded in pale, waxy skin and surrounded by scar tissue, and from what he saw, it looked like the only set of scars on Heine’s body. The guy was deathly thin; if it wasn’t for that thing in his neck, that white hair would have fallen out and he’d be shoved inside a box and stuffed in the ground. Not the perfect picture of health; but then again, Heine would have been dead thousands of times over before he'd even have a chance to starve.

There was sign of improvement though; he did look sickly all the time, but muscles protruded from his arms and legs. In fact, he's gotten slightly better since Badou first met him. That’s a start, at least.

“Do you want anything to eat? To drink?”

“No.” Heine moved his hand to peek out at Badou, a ruby eye boring into him. The red-head couldn't read that damn guy's expression, and he fucking hated it. He could never understand what Heine was thinking unless the guy voiced it. And his partner doesn't like to do that.

“Well, then I’m going to bed. We have to do that ugly ass job tomorrow, and I don’t want to be dead tired. If you feel like it, I’ll pull out another mattress for you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Alright. The offer’s still there, though.”

He turned out the lights and walked into his room, pulling a spare mattress out and laying it on the floor next to his bed. He stood for a moment, contemplating what he should offer on that poor, worn, stained piece of springly shit; he didn't have much to give, in all honestly. In the end, he threw one of his pillows from his bed on there, and two extra blankets. Heine could do what he wanted. Take it or leave it, he didn’t care.

He put out his cigarette, took off his patch, and closed his only remaining eye.

{--+--}

Badou woke sometime in the middle of the night, his mouth severely dry and his body severely lacking in nicotine. Reaching for his pack and lighter, he walked ungracefully out onto his tiny balcony. It wasn’t a bad apartment, since he regularly gave tips to the hotel manager about anyone that applied for a place here. Something like a ‘scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ deal. The result of that got him a pretty unobscured view of the Underground... not like it was anything to look at, though.

He breathed in the night for a while, watching the artificial lights above slowly begin to glow. When his thoughts began to flow again, he put out his cig and reentered the apartment, reaching his hands high into the air in a stretch. His partner was fast asleep (he looked like a corpse, in all honesty); the back of Heine's head uncovered on the mattress. The collar drew Badou's curious wandering eye, where the thick scar marred his skin all around the unforgiving metal, extending up into his ghostly hairline and down under the borrowed shirt. A lump formed in the pit of the red-head's stomach.

Just looking at something like that… and thinking about the gravity of Heine’s past… It made him want another cigarette. In fact, it made him want at least ten at once. But that’s damn wasteful.

“Badou, I know you’re staring.”

“I—I’m not—You’re awake?”

With a deep sigh, Heine turned around. His red eyes looked something odd in the dim light, that’s for sure…

“You’re not very discreet.”

“Yeah… well. You’re too discreet,” Badou stammered, his tongue searching for a cigarette. He contemplated lighting another, but that ruby gaze held him in place. If Badou didn't know the guy, he would have mistaken him for a ghost.

“You’re going to ask about it, aren’t you?” He propped his head up on his elbow, face covered in an insufferable expression that totally pissed the red-head off.

“Okay, fine. Here’s me asking about it.” 

“Ask an actual question, dumbass,” Heine growled, rolling his eyes.

“Does it hurt?” In Badou’s defense, he was curious.

“What kinda shitty-ass question is that?”

“You ass, you said—“

“No, it doesn’t hurt," Heine interrupted. "Not often, anyway.”

“Not often? So it does, sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” The red-head scowled at his lack of elaboration. “What about you? Does your eye hurt?”

Badou blinked, his good eye twitching. “Kinda? It aches, and itches sometimes. When a particularly tough situation presents itself it burns. Didn’t think you’d care, that’s weird.” His hand instinctively reached up to the scar that covered the empty socket.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Why’re you even awake? I didn’t think you’d actually sleep in here.”

“Then why’d you set it up?”

“Because—Jesus Christ. Yeah I set it up; I just thought you’d be too weird to take the offer.”

“Weird?”

“You’re awkward and antisocial as fuck, Heine.”

“When you’re a dog with a collar, come talk to me about it, Badou.” With that, he turned around and drew the covers up to hide the metal.

Badou grumbled, and set his alarm. What the fuck does that even mean, anyway?

Heine was seriously one hell of a partner.


	2. Deuces

“What the _fuck_  are you doing!”

“What the fuck are _you_ doing!”

“Shut the hell up!”

“Don’t you know how to do anything without fucking it up?”

“You’re one to talk, bastard!”

Heine sat with his back to a wall, crouched, and guns at the ready. Badou was across from him, poised to sip a cup of tea. If they had any.

“Just do your thing! You know, where you go out and shoot ‘em all up!” The redhead strained to raise his voice over the din of guns.

“Oh, you mean where I become your convenient flesh shield?”

“Don’t try and get all technical when you don’t even pay attention to detail, Heine!”

Another volley of bullets drowned them out, some ricocheting off the steel walls. Fuck this shitty fucking job. Old Granny Liza just had a knack for picking them. The two men knew Granny liked the fact they had an odd partnership; knew that Heine was the muscle of it (and that Badou was the decoy). But hell if Heine wanted to get torn to pieces by lead. That shit hurt to cough up. He was in a foul goddamn mood, and he wasn’t so sure why; he vigorously rubbed his bullet wounds and urged them to heal faster.

Sighing and gritting his teeth, Heine dashed into the open, picking off a few offenders on the right, then moving in a steady angle towards a pillar for cover. Pain was at the back of his mind, but he still could feel that he had been hit. Once in his left leg, and twice in his right shoulder.  It only made his anger burn even hotter.

He didn’t know where Badou was (probably hiding and watching), but he swiftly cleared the room of any survivors. Not waiting for his sorry excuse of a partner, he quickly advanced to the next room.

It was a large space, coated in sheets of metal. At the opposite end, there was a single heavy duty door; as he approached it, Heine knew it’d take more than their current amount of muscle to knock down. They at least needed a Hulk, or a key. None of which they possessed, none of which they could find anytime soon.

“The group that ran this one sure was thorough,” Badou said, strolling up from behind Heine.  He took a drag and returned the other’s glare. “Oh, come on. You know I hate blood.”

“Only if it’s yours, you fuckin’ lightweight.”

“Man, get over it; we’ve already established that you’re the muscle and I’m the brains, and we—“

“Not much of a brain to follow.”

“Would you can it? Jeez, you’re like a teenage angst drama queen.”

“Fuck off.”

“Gladly, after this job’s over.”

The white-haired gunner followed Badou over to the door, watching him inspect it. Smoke floated upward lazily as he knocked a knuckle on the surface of the metal, and in response, the entrance the two of them entered from was shut off by a large steel barrier.

“Fucking wonderful,” Heine growled.

“Hey, hey, hey… that wasn’t my fault—“

“Like hell it wasn’t your fault!”

“What’s with you? You’re in such a bad mood,” the red-head exclaimed, making an exaggerated gesture with his free hand. Heine only glared back. “And I mean that as in way fuckin’ worse than normal. What, did your coffee turn cold while you were brooding this morning?”

“Shut the fuck—“

An entrance to the right of them opened, where a few armed personnel poured in, armed with guns. They were covered in head to toe with a dark uniform, and each of them had some kind of mask on.

“H-Hey… what the hell’s up with that?”

Heine only had time to grab Badou’s shirt collar and pull him behind as the soldiers opened fire; at the same time, he took aim and fired back. Two of the seven fell; but they were replaced by four more. Five fell, replaced by eight more. Pain shocked through his system and he could taste the iron in his mouth, and he could only hope to the god he didn’t believe in that they didn’t hit between the eyes. Although, in hind sight, he really couldn’t have cared if they did.

“Heine, they keep—“

“Shut it! Get shooting, idiot!” Blood mixed in with his saliva, and he felt it leak down his chin.

Badou joined in, and the two of them took out enemy after enemy, having no cover but one immortal body. The red-head positioned himself directly behind Heine, sliding his arms under his partner’s and peeking over his shoulder. A flesh shield after all.

But a flesh shield could only do so much. Heine’s body stopped most of the bullets, but a few grazed the redhead’s cheek, and another was able to pierce Badou’s side. Pain surged up his spine, and Heine heard Badou groan. This needed to end, and quickly.

The enemy began to fall fast; and minute after minute ticked by until only one was standing, surrounded by the mass carnage of a couple dozen bodies. He fell with a shot from Heine. A pause, waiting for any new enemies to present themselves. Badou started to lower his hands.

“I think that’s—“

A hidden enemy jumped out from the tunnel, carrying a machine gun, and Heine knocked Badou’s feet out from under him as the round ripped into his gut. Taking no spare time, the redhead sniped the guy from the ground, and the assailant fell to the cold metal floor with a heavy thud. Then, silence.

Heine stumbled backwards, guns dropping and blood pouring from his wounds. The smoke soon appeared, but the world began to tilt in his vision. He coughed, spraying blood, and sagged against the wall.

A warm hand pressed against his neck, and the immortal’s eyes snapped open to find Badou hovered over him. His partner was wearing an odd expression. Almost like he was concerned.

“What are you doing.” It was a demand, not a question. Though Heine was pretty sure his words didn’t bite as much as he wanted them to.

“Er… you’re not going to die, are you?” Badou put his other hand carefully against Heine’s chest, taking it away and watching the blood run down his fingertips.

“Not from something like this,” he grumbled. “Just gimme a minute, will ya?” A wild snicker sounded from somewhere inside Heine’s head. _Yer pushin’ the limits, master._

Badou continued to hover over him like a fly, walking back and forth and puffing intensely on his cigarette. He kept his hands busy by closely examining his guns. Talk about a close call.

Heine stood a moment later, heading towards the entrance the enemy had filed out from. A sigh came from Badou, but he knew the redhead would follow.

They made it up to another metal room, the walls of which were covered in several screens. Almost all of them displayed the massacre Heine and Badou had wrought upon the compound; bodies, blood, guns, discarded bullet shells, more blood. In the observer’s chair was the man that Granny Liza had said was heading this operation; his body twitching and convulsing from emptying a deadly concoction into himself, the bottle of which was now clinking around the floor.

Without pretense, Heine shot the guy in the head; letting the body fall with no more tremors. Badou started slightly but said nothing, looking away and inhaling a good bit of smoke.

The two of them searched the surveillance room, finding information on where the brats were and a couple documents of transactions. Badou pocketed them, and took the keys found on the now dead head-honcho that opened the metal door from the previous room. That's where they would find the kids.

They didn’t say anything as they picked their way through the carnage, back to the silver door, which was still covered in Heine's evaporating blood. After trying multiple keys, there was finally one that clicked, and the door moved backwards, then smoothly swung inwards. Badou whistled.

“Whoever that guy got his funding from, it was no joke.”

Heine only growled, feeling a slight twinge in the back of his neck. Laying before them in a battered and cowering heap were about ten mutant children, one child in particular standing in front with a determined look on his face. He brought his fists in front of his face as tears pooled in his eyes, knees shaking and ears flat against his head.

“Don’t worry, kid. We ain’t here to hurt you,” Badou said, softening his gaze and pocketing his ingrams. Heine watched curiously as the redhead approached the boy, getting onto his knees and scooting forward. Scared yellow irises flicked back and forth between the two of them, calculating, going over options for escape and threat level. As Badou advanced, the kid stepped back and finally, after those wide yellow eyes settled on him, the white-haired, blood-soaked, freaky-looking immortal backed out of the room.

Sighing, Heine looked down at himself. His shirt was completely and utterly ruined, of course, but this time it was barely staying on his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he leaned backward on the cold metal. The world had begun to dip again and he didn’t know how much time he had left to stand and walk around. Damnit. _Ya should’ve just left him for dead_ , the voice yipped.  _Don'chya remember yer survival, master?_

It wasn’t long before Badou came out from the room, leaving the door open a crack. He took a drag, and it was all Heine could do to open his eyes and stand straight. It was hitting him now.

“The cops’re coming soon. We better ditch this place; Granny'll get the kids back from them. We searched all we could here, and found a few kids. She should be satisfied.”

The white-haired gunner only grunted in response, fighting down a particularly bad bout of lightheadedness. His body took a step toward Badou, but the world decided that wasn’t what it wanted him to do, because it began to rush around him, the floor in particular rising up. And then suddenly, it stilled.

“Y’know, you’re a real fucking idiot,” the redhead said, somewhere close to his ear. Cigarette smoke curled around his nostrils.

“Shut it, you jackass… We wouldn’t have… …put out your damn… fuckin’ cigarette.”

“What, feelin’ a little under the weather, are we?” Heine suddenly lost all energy in him to keep on bickering, suddenly going limp. “Fu—Hey, hey, hey, Heine, you aren’t gonna die, are you?”

“Nice to see you suddenly give a shit, after I’ve had about fifty rounds emptied into me,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

“You’re the one that volunteered yourself as a shield.” But despite the harshness to his words, Heine could sense a slight shake. Doubt and worry.

“S’just some blood… gimme a min.”

“We don’t have a ‘min,’” Badou grumbled. Heine could feel himself being pulled upward, and draped over the redhead’s back. The cops would throw their asses in jail. “You got enough energy to give yourself a boost?”

Heine just grunted, opening one eye slightly to see the ground move farther away from him as Badou stood up.

“J-Jesus Christ, you don’t fucking look _that_ heavy!”

Badou’s foot took a step, and the white-haired gunner felt the body under him strain with the added weight. But soon enough, they were moving, and soon enough, Heine’s willpower melted away to let the darkness take him.

The mad dog in his neck howled with laughter.

 

{--+--}

Just what was this kinda bullshit?

First of all, here he was, not even able to smoke a fuckin’ cig, and second of all, his seemingly immortal partner was passed the fuck out on his back. And he was the one carrying that dead weight, and Heine fuckin’ _knew_ he didn’t do muscle-power.

Despite all his whining though, Badou clenched his jaw and dealt with it. Besides, if not for him, they’d both be dead.  Or well, he would be, and Heine would be walking away. He knew that; he knew it better than anyone else and it made him fucking angry.

But… a thought crept into his head. Before, he knew Heine wouldn’t do any of that. The Heine he met some odd years ago wouldn’t have shielded Badou, or even given any second thought to protect him. In fact, his partner’s actions have all been pretty odd lately. Couldn’t he have just found another place himself? And if he had really hated Badou as much as he did when they first met, he’d definitely have taken the offer to sleep in the pews.

Badou turned toward his left shoulder, where Heine’s head rested, and was relieved to feel breath on his skin. It meant that the immortal was truly immortal, and he didn’t have to worry. He hefted Heine up higher, and ignoring the nosy or scandalized looks from the people he passed, and trudged onward to his apartment.

 

{--+--}

Heine opened his eyes. He knew Badou had carried him back to his apartment, but he was unsure of what would happen now. He lifted his head and let his gaze wander, taking in the redhead's shitty apartment. 

“Rise 'n Shine. It’s about time your sorry ass got in gear,” Badou grumbled, coming back inside from the balcony. Heine just laid his head back onto the pillow, and closed his eyes.

“Hey! Don’t you dare go back to sleep, you’ve been hogging my bed for two days.”

Heine said nothing, suddenly feeling excessively sick. That nausea soon turned to pain, and a moment later, he convulsed. Badou yelled some string of curse words and gibberish as the white-haired immortal rolled out of the bed and landed on the floor, convulsing again, this time coughing deep from his gut.

“What the ever-loving _fuck_ are you _doing_!? I swear to god if you up and die or fucking explode in blood on my fucking walls and floor I'm gonna fuckin’ SUE your shitty pale ass! You better be prepared to clean whatever it is you’re going to do up, and if it stinks—“ Heine reached a shaking hand onto the bed and whipped a pillow at the redhead, successfully muffling him.

After several outbursts from Badou and more than a few blood-covered bullets later, Heine rolled over onto his back and gasped in air. Silence filled the room, at least until the white-haired gunner caught his breath.

“Fuck off. It’s not my fault you dumped me on your bed and I happened to sleep for two days,” he rasped, “and if you ask me, this is barely paying me back from saving your scrawny ass.”

“Whatever,” the redhead mumbled, turning around. “Since you’re awake, I gotta go and turn in a report to Granny Liza.”

“Wait a sec.” Heine propped himself up with his elbows. “You haven’t even turned in a fucking report yet?”

“No, I—“

“She’s going to kick your fucking ass. The incident should already be released on the news, not to mention—“

“Shut the fuck up, alright? Your fucking zombie pale-ass half-dead body was lying in my bed as if my room was a shitting morgue, excuse me if I delay a report for a couple hours!”

Again, the room filled heavily with nothing. Badou lit a cig, turned on his heel, and walked out. Heine closed his eyes as he listened to his partner’s retreating steps, as his boots scuffed against the floor and paused to grab his jacket, then disappeared as the door opened and shut.

Heine laid back down, shielding his face with his arm, vaguely wondering what that was all about, but more content to just stare up at the ceiling blankly.

The dog hissed with laughter. _That redhead’s got it good!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i edited this all through again so it rolls more smoothly off the tongue; i always post and dont have energy to edit until later.


	3. Trigger

Badou stomped away from the door; cursing under his breath and walking the familiar route to Old Lady Liza’s. Y’know—fuck him for being anxious over a shit-eater like that; he should’ve just filed the report as soon as he had the time and then dumped Heine off in the pews. Less blood in his bed, less worrying on his part.

He took a drag and slowed his pace as the adrenaline began to wear off, sighing out smoke. Regardless of how shitty of a person Heine is, he does have reason to be, and he’s valuable. As a soldier, of course. No other reason that Badou would want him around. A bell dinged as he entered the shop.

“Yo, Lady Liza. It’s me.”

“Welcome back, Badou. Come; sit,” she gestured to the chair in front of her, folding her hands in her lap. She cut right to the chase. “The job I gave you has been done for two days.”

“Yeah. I finished it the morning after you gave it,” he mumbled, flicking some ash onto the floor between his feet. He didn’t want to look at her too closely.

“And what have you been doing for those two days? I understand recuperating and treating wounds after a raid, but two days is excessive. I demand to know your reason. Procuring unbiased information as quickly as possible is crucial to my business, as you well know; I hired you and Heine for that purpose.”

Badou gave a slight huff, watching the smoke with his good eye. He did that a lot. “Yeah, I get it. That raid was tough; I had to carry Heine back to my apartment because he lost so much blood. That head-honcho had a budget, Liza; one that Heine and I almost got crushed under.”

“So how’s Heine now?” Her glasses flashed in the low light.

“He’s awake. He slept for the last two days as his wounds healed. I would have come in sooner but I honestly couldn’t tell whether he was dying or not.”

“The boy’s immortal, Badou. He doesn’t die.”

“There’s always something that kills someone, Granny.”

The two stared at each other for a long while, which really wasn’t fair; it was two against one. He couldn’t help he had no other damn eye. The corner of Granny Liza’s lip quirked upwards, and Badou felt a chill run through him. Whatever that expression meant, it looked damn scary and he was pretty sure he didn’t want to find out why she was doing it.

“So, in other words, you delayed your report so you could look after Heine.” The redhead choked on his smoke, eyes watering.

“What the—who the hell said I did that? I was just making sure his damn body didn’t decompose in my bed; he already looks like he’s got a foot in a coffin anyway!” Liza just gave him a look; and they locked gazes again until Badou finally glanced off to the side, taking another drag. “Anyway. I got all the other info that the police don’t have. Transactions, plan of action, targets and more.” He handed the packet over.

“Thank you for your work, Badou. I debated cutting your pay, since you were late; but I think that your concern for Heine was justified and this information more than makes up for it,” She smiled warmly, but he only felt colder.

“… Yeah. Be seein’ ya, then.” The bell dinged again as his boots crossed the threshold. What the hell was that Old Grandma going on about? She finally went senile, he mused, turning back the way he came and counting the money.

{--+--}

Heine gasped, struggling to breathe and half-choking on the piece of metal stuck in his throat. He rolled onto his knees and hands and after the clink of metal sounded below him, sucked in a breath. That was the thirteenth bullet within the hour. In total that made… a whole hell of a lot. He stood slowly, using the bed as support and glared down at the floor; it was covered in blood. He grimaced. Badou was gonna be pissed.

He staggered into the bathroom and washed most of the blood down the sink; staring briefly into the mirror. Behind him a dark figure curled around his shoulder; it grinned back. It bared its teeth, revealing sharp canines, as if about to make an insufferable remark; but the white-haired gunner turned away. A light snicker echoed from the back of his head.

He took a cold shower, the caked blood rinsing out from under his nails and from the roots of his hair. Badou had apparently just scrubbed his wounds clean, which really didn’t even need to happen anyway (since they healed regardless of how much blood covered them). Borrowing more of Badou’s clothes, he dressed in a dark short sleeved shirt and jeans. Fuck that tank top.

The blood on the floor was evaporating slowly; but Heine helped it along, picking up the bullets and wiping up most of the scarlet mess with a cloth. He shrugged, throwing it in the hamper. It’s not like Badou had a washer.

He was laying on the couch when the red-head walked in; making a point to slam the door loudly.

“Wow, I’m impressed. For once, you’re not completely covered in blood.” He sat heavily down next to Heine, who glared at the closeness and obnoxious way he disturbed the couch. “You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Let’s go out to eat, we just got paid,” the redhead said, waving the wad of cash in front of his partner’s face. When Heine made no show of interest, Badou sighed. “C’mon, Heine. Humor me. I dragged your dead ass back here.”

“… I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“What—so, you wanted me to leave you there?”

The white-haired gunner just looked away, glaring hard at the wall. Badou took a deep breath and hopped up, walking to his bedroom and pulling out a leather jacket with a tall collar. He threw it on Heine, putting another on himself at the same time.

“C’mon; let’s go to Buon Viaggio’s.” Heine grunted, but slowly followed, shrugging on the jacket. It smelled like its owner. The mad dog smirked.

{--+--}

Even when food was placed in front of him, Heine didn’t feel much like eating. He had just hacked up a good number of bullets and healed wounds that would’ve killed a mortal 20 times over; which you would think would warrant a growling stomach. But no, he just felt disgusted. Badou, who sat across from him, stuffed his face; he hadn’t eaten this good in a while.

“Heine, eat.” The white-haired soldier only looked off to the side, his chin resting on his palm.

“… I’m not hungry.”

“Come on, you—“

“A man’s gotta eat! You two had a tough job the other day, so reward yourself a little,” Kiri interrupted, delivering a beer to Badou. “What do you want, Heine? Coffee? A beer?”

“… Coffee,” he grumbled, glowering at Badou. If there was one thing he hated, it was people insisting he eat. He didn’t need to eat, realistically; the spine not only healed his wounds, it basically kept him alive, no matter what. Starving just made him a skeleton, a being on the verge of death but not able to be sent into the bliss of oblivion.

He slid the plate towards Badou when Kiri returned with the coffee, and Badou eyed it.

“Heine, you really should eat.”

“The last thing I ate was bullets, and I’ve had enough iron.” Badou sighed, downing the rest of his can in one go. He waved Kiri over and told her to bring a box for the food. Heine decidedly ignored it when it was placed in front of him, and so Badou did the honors of scooping the untouched food into the plastic container.

Mihai returned from a grocery run and joined them; then Mimi was called over and Kiri sat down, and soon the table was full of laughter and jokes and talk. The coffee continued to be replaced in front of him as the others downed beer and other alcoholic beverages; he was offered several times by several people if he wanted any, but he declined. Not that he didn’t want any (though he really didn’t); there was no point to it. Alcohol had no effect on him; and again, he could thank the spine for that.

At the end of the night, Heine was stuck looking after a very tipsy Badou, pretty much carrying him home. Talk about a role reversal.

“Heeiinnee…” Badou started to giggle—like a fucking _schoolgirl_ —and he waved around the can of beer. “Heine. Y’know, thoshe kids were ones a’ the lucky onez.” The white-haired gunner didn’t say a thing, thinking instead of how long it was to the apartment. Four blocks? Five? Damnit.

“Rrreaaallly lucky, y’know. Like. Shho lucky. Essspeshically ‘cos you were there,” He dropped the can and hugged Heine around the neck; to which the other pretty much dropped him. But Badou held on. “I wuld have defintly died!”

Just like that, much to the immortal’s chagrin, the two of them made their way (slowly) back to the redheads apartment (excruciatingly) being quite the sight for any passersby (embarrassingly). Heine eventually got Badou onto the couch; he turned on the TV so the redhead would have something to keep him occupied until he got sober. Or atleast wait until he was tolerable. Which would be a long while.

Meanwhile, Heine sat on the balcony and watched the rest of the underground in the fake night; the lamps in rooms that flickered on and off, the dark figures that swept from alley to alley, and then at the ceiling as, one by one, the lights blinked out.

It was times like these that Heine really wished he could stop thinking. It was almost like he was thinking about everything at once—and then nothing at all. It disturbed him; that he could feel so much yet be nothing. He found himself wondering if it would always be like this; this kind of daily grind, with the whispers of the levels below never quite reaching his ears…

“Heine?”

Ruby eyes met green; and for a brief moment, the redhead seemed to be completely sober. And then he fell flat on his nose into the balcony’s concrete, tripping over the doorframe.

“You got m’smokes?” He still had a slur, but atleast this time Heine could understand him, and atleast he could pull himself up off the ground this time.

“Depends. Are you sober?” A drunk Badou with a fire starter? As if.

“Sober enough, you ass. Gimme damn… smokes.”

Heine watched as the redhead’s face lit up as he passed over the box, and as he struggled to light the cigarette between his teeth. With a sigh and a brief thought of a child, he took the lighter from Badou’s hands and helped him. Badou mumbled a short thanks before exhaling. The two watched his dirty breath climb to the ceiling, sitting in complete silence.

“Y’know… you puzzle me.”

“What?”

“You. You confuse me,” Badou repeated, his words jumbled. “Y’know… ‘cos you’re always doin’ dumb shit. And then you do not-so-dumb shit that makes me confused, and then y’go right back into doing super dumb shit that makes me wanna smack your face off. Super confusing.”

Heine just snorted. “Go drink some more water, Badou.”

“No! I’m serious! Tell me why.”

“Wha-why what?”

Badou moved so that he was inches from Heine’s face, staring so intently that Heine unconsciously moved away.

“Why you’re so damn confusing.”

Heine didn’t answer, and Badou didn’t move; so the two were stuck, for a while, until Badou had to take a drag. And when that happened, Heine promptly went back into the apartment. The redhead probably wouldn’t remember why he was covered in so many bruises when he woke up the next morning, after blowing smoke into the white-haired immortal’s face. He ended up on the couch again.

“Hey.” The balcony door shut. Boots echoed towards him. “Heine.”

He only grunted back, laying down on the couch and covering his eyes with his arm. The news was running on in the background, some damned woman talking about some orchestral concert that was up-and-coming. It was going to come around in a couple months; this composer must be prestigious or something. Not like he cared.

“Heine.” The footsteps stopped, right next to the white-haired gunner. A pause, then cold, tentative fingertips slid around his neck, around his metal collar; Heine gasped audibly and gripped Badou’s wrists. Hard. “Ow, ow, Okay, wow, ouch—“

But the redhead didn’t move his fingers, and the white-haired immortal dug his nails into his partner’s skin. Red eyes locked with green, and suddenly Heine was very, very tired. His hold on Badou loosened, and although he growled low in his throat, it didn’t sound threatening.

Maybe it was the alcohol; maybe it was his blatant disregard to any bodily harm Heine could inflict on him; but Badou’s fingers started to inspect the skin attached to the metal.

The contact made Heine’s teeth itch; it felt so odd, so unusual; he had an overwhelming urge to sink his nails and teeth into the redhead and make him pay for doing this. But just when he felt like he was actually going to do it, just when he thought the twitching of his hands on Badou’s arm would lead to a punch in the other’s face—he stopped.

The redhead gave a short hum and pulled away, seemingly satisfied with whatever conclusion he came to. It pissed Heine off. As the other turned to watch the TV; he aimed his foot right in between Badou’s shoulder blades, sending the other into the coffee table and whatever load of shit was on top of it.

“Hey! Why the hell’d you do that!? You fucking asshole!” He looked back at his attacker with the most scandalized face, it almost made Heine smug.

“Oh, are we sober now?”

“How the hell should I know? All I know is that fucking hurt!”

The white-haired gunner only shrugged, making his way back to the balcony. He closed the door this time; praying Badou would take a hint and back the fuck off.

Heine dozed a while; his knees pulled to his chest made a convenient resting place for his chin. He didn’t know what the hell got into his partner-in-crime to do something like that—as in, what exactly about him screamed ‘I’m open to be touched! Take a look at my collar’? Nothing. Fucking absolutely Nothing.

In any case, the feather-light memory still hovered in his mind, and he could still feel the ghost of Badou’s fingertips on his neck. On the skin next to the spine. Next to the part of him that shouldn’t be there.

He didn’t know how he felt; and for once, the mad dog said nothing. It was a nice break, yeah; but it left Heine alone with his thoughts. Which he guessed… was better than the dog… but…

The door to the balcony opened, and Heine whipped around.

“Come inside. I’m going to sleep and I’m gonna lock the door.”

Heine went back to the couch. Badou turned off the lights, and locked the door. And that was it.

{--+--}

As always, the redhead woke in the middle of the night to take a smoke; and immediately after he opened his eyes he regretted it. A splitting headache seared into him; he groaned loudly and rolled out onto the balcony. He passed by Heine, who was curled on the couch, on the way to the kitchen. Despite all his deeds and everything he’s done, the redhead still can’t believe he could look so sound. When the collar was covered up, and when his eyes were closed; the immortal looked like a lost, underground youth. The typical beat-up, torn-down kinda visage.

But then Heine twitched; and Badou looked closer. The immortal was covered in a thin sheen of sweat; his breathing quick and shallow and his face now twisted up. The redhead immediately shook him awake--Heine shot up, smacking Badou away and scrambling to make sense of what was happening.

He looked confused for a brief momen, then realization flooded in his features. He shakily stood up, glaring hard at Badou, and walked into the bedroom. Jeez. If Heine was a kinda pill to swallow, he’d be the biggest, spikiest, toughest pill that you could ever shove down someone’s throat.

When Badou came back to the room, Heine was curled up on the mattress with no blankets. The redhead debated about just leaving it, but after a quick curse under his breath he shook him awake again.

“Badou, what in the fucking—“

“I’m not in the mood, Heine, so just get up,” he growled, tugging on an arm and leading the other under the covers of the bigger bed. To his surprise, Heine complied; letting himself be pulled with a deep sigh. It sounded resigned.

The two of them laid there, back to back; both as awkward as the other, both confused, and both having no idea what to do. Obviously, they could sleep; but also just as obviously, they couldn’t. Badou jumped as Heine spoke.

“Badou,” he started, and the clenched jaw could almost be heard in the tenseness of his voice. As if he was unsure whether it was okay to speak; unsure of whether or not he wanted to. “If you ever touch me like that again I’ll kick your ass for real.”

Silence. Then,

“It’s soft.”

“What?”

“Your skin. Near the collar. It’s soft,” the redhead mumbled, shifting deeper into the covers, as if he could avoid the looming dangerous air that Heine seemed to emit. But instead of attacking him, like Badou thought he would, Heine just laid there. Quietly.

He bed rocked as Heine shifted around to look at his partner; and carefully, Badou did the same. He still thought those red eyes looked spooky in the night; but this time… he felt different about it. He didn’t feel like prey in the eyes of a predator; he felt...

“What’d you think it would be?”

“Huh?” The redhead blinked, even as Heine stared at him. “I… I don’t know. I…” He felt… like he was being looked at. As an equal.

“It’s skin, Badou. What else would it feel like?” Those glinting irises flicked to the side, as if to hide something; looking past the walls of the apartment, fixed on something far away. Maybe it was something possibly even past the underground; past the world above, past the atmosphere. Badou breathed out, his headache forgotten, and reached towards the other, again.

Their gazes locked, and it only briefly made Badou pause in his decision; it probably wasn’t the alcohol. His fingertips again brushed by hair devoid of any color, landing on the pale skin that just a couple days before, was covered in blood.

It was completely crazy. It was stupid. He was definitely gonna die. Badou was gonna die because of Heine, not necessarily because the immortal beat him to death; but because he was sure he was drowning. But, figuratively. Most likely. It wouldn’t lead to his actual death… probably. Well, Heine would still probably beat his ass later, but that was… that was irrelevant right now.

Heine bared his teeth again, drawing himself up with sharp intake of breath; holding again onto Badou’s forearms as the latter ran his calloused hands more fully over the area.

The redhead let his mind go carefully blank; focusing instead on the shape of the metal, the nape of the other’s neck, the skin under his jawline, and the scars that laced that area, that never disappeared. Like before, Heine made little noises in response to the movement; it spurred Badou further.

“I was expecting it to feel rough. I was expecting something tough and jagged; but instead it’s smooth,” Heine’s eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched and his lips formed a tight frown, corners of his mouth curled into the beginnings of a snarl. “I didn’t expect it to be soft.” Even his breathing was bated.

He pulled his hands away from Heine’s neck again; and waited for the fire he was sure would flare up in his face. But it didn’t come. Instead those ruby eyes just glared at him absentmindedly.

He was surprised to see the immortal purse his lips, then move his own pale hands towards the redhead; a wave of apprehension floated over Badou, but soon enough Heine’s fingers brushed his collarbone and the wave was gone.

Heine’s fingers were long and warm; colder than Badou’s neck, but warmer than he thought they would be, and surprisingly soft. The immortal seemed to be surprising him a lot lately. In several ways.

The redhead forced himself to relax (he still had a second thought or two about Heine’s hands around his throat) and subconsciously lifted his chin to give the other more skin. He was acutely aware of his racing heart, his slightly sweaty palms that haphazardly held onto Heine, and the proximity of the other gunner to himself. All these things at once made him feel even more intoxicated than he did earlier that day.

Heine took his hands away; but not before briefly ghosting his thumb over the other’s bad eye. “Your skin feels exactly the way I thought it would.” Despite the smugness in his face, his voice was just as breathless as Badou felt. There was also a flash of something else there; but that was gone before he could place it.

Badou rolled his eye, taking hold of his partner’s shirt and pulling towards him; wrapping his arms around the other. Heine huffed, tugging at the redhead’s limbs until they both were comfortable; leaving them both entwined. His white hair tickled Badou’s chin.

“Go the hell to sleep, Badou.”

And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll go back in again to edit this, just like I did the previous chapters. Ahahaha.... i hope it wasn't too out of character, but i couldn't get this scene out of my head.  
> I also misspelled gunner as 'gunny' making Heine a 'gunny'. thought that was funny and i should share. Anyway.  
> I know Badou's eye(s) are canonically blue or something... but i just have a soft spot for redheads with green eye(s). It's a fact.
> 
> hope you enjoyed it!


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